


Dead

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius enjoys Remus’ down time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My entry for January’s Daily Deviant.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

The door creaks when it opens, just like every dilapidated thing in this Merlin-forsaken house. The man in the bed barely moves, too sick to breathe. 

Sirius shuts the door behind himself and doesn’t bother to tip toe over. He knows Remus won’t be asleep. He sees that when he hits the bed, plopping down on the edge of it. The study-turned-bedroom is dark and dreary, a sliver of moonlight slipping through the tattered curtains. Grimmauld Place has seen better days, and so has Remus Lupin. 

Remus looks over his shoulder, not quite strong enough to roll over, and he mumbles blearily, “Hey, Padfoot.”

“Hey,” Sirius answers. Sirius puts one hand on Remus’ shoulder and forces him over; he ‘oof’s when his back hits the mattress. But he’s too weak to stop it. He’s so, _so_ weak like this, and his eyes are clouded behind his heavy pupils. The Wolfsbane saves him... for a price. 

Sirius lifts the covers enough to slip under, and Remus coughs and scrunches his eyes closed, wracked with another set of chills. His old, faded brown pajamas stick to his thin form, moist with sweat. Sirius only wears boxers to bed. He adjusts the covers back over himself again—wouldn’t want Remus getting cold. 

He lies atop Remus’ small body and kisses Remus’ cheek, licking right over a scar. Remus’ head turns to the side, but he doesn’t protest. Never does. His hands lift as though they want to cling to Sirius’ shoulders, but they just fall down again. Sirius keeps his weight off Remus by staying up on one elbow, knees to either of Remus’ legs. But he reaches down and rearranges them, spreads Remus’ thighs enough to settle between them, enough that he can grind his crotch into Remus’ easily, comfortably, at least for him. Remus winces at the physical movement. 

Sirius licks his cheek again, and Remus groans, “Sirius—”

“So cute like this, Remy,” Sirius hisses, husky, thick already. He reaches into his own boxers, massaging himself while he runs his tongue and teeth and lips all over the side of Remus’ face. Merlin, he _missed this._ Locked up so long, he thought of it so much, of Remus, of trembling little Remus under the moonlight, every time it rose through the Azkaban bars. The feeling of Remus’ body beneath his has changed, grown with the years, but every last scrap of desire is still there, burning hot. Sirius pulls his cock out and rubs the precum over Remus’ pants while Remus tries to lift his arms again. 

“Sirius, I can’t—”

“I know.” He does. He just doesn’t _care_. He ruts his hips into Remus, fist around his cock, and he plays with Remus’ sweat-matted hair with the other hand. Remus is breathing hard, shallow and unsteady. He could be out on the plains, large and powerful, and instead he’s here, held down and at Sirius’ mercy. It sends a rush of pure _power_ up Sirius’ spine—he spent too many years powerless. 

Remus makes a helpless whimpering sound when Sirius’ hand slips into his pants, massaging his limp cock. He can’t get hard, not like this, not with his whole body so drained it can hardly keep him alive. Sirius doesn’t care, or maybe cares the wrong way—he’s sick, he knows that. Always did have different tastes, always was filthier, wrong. He shuffles down Remus’ pants around Remus’ thighs, pulling out Remus’ flaccid length. Then he’s clutching his own shaft again. He nudges into it, ruts their cocks together, and Remus doesn’t even moan, just grits his teeth. 

“’M sorry,” Remus mumbles. His eyes are scrunched tightly shut, so Sirius can’t see them. 

Sirius nuzzles into Remus’ face, nearly growling with pleasure. He’d fuck Remus senseless if he could, but he knows Remus wouldn’t be able to take it, would whimper and cry and break Sirius’ heart. His own hand will have to do. His own hand and the silky-smooth textured of Remus’ soft cock, only lightly lined with veins. He licks his lips and mumbles, “For what?”

Remus can’t answer right away; Sirius has grabbed his chin and pulled him back, opened his mouth, is kissing him deep. Remus’ tongue tries to respond but just sort of quakes, while Sirius pillages everything and takes full advantage. He can feel Remus losing breath, and he pulls back to give room. 

Remus coughs a few times, struggles, and groans, “For being impotent.” He says it with a heavy _shame_ and pretty eyes cast elsewhere. He’s a little minx other days, but the moon...

“S’okay,” Sirius insists. He’s not even humping Remus now, just grinding into him, over and over. He’s probably crushing Remus, but he’s too horny to care. It’s stiflingly hot under the covers. Remus’ skin is on fire. 

Sirius kisses his cheek and murmurs, “Like you like this, baby. Just like this...” He kisses all along Remus’ jaw and bites at Remus’ throat, wanting to mark him, _claim_ him, but he’s got enough scars. Sirius insists, “It gives me a rush, having you...”

“Having an impotent invalid?” Remus mutters dryly.

“Yeah,” Sirius hisses. He bites Remus’ ear; Remus flinches. His cock hasn’t even twitched. It’s lifeless and still beneath Sirius’ ever grinding hips. Sirius chuckles darkly. “My little werewolf, all helpless and trusting, completely at my mercy...” Just saying it makes something twinge in his cock, makes him lust-clouded and hot. He moans as he grinds Remus into the bed, “You’re so good to me, Moony, so good, always letting me have you...”

Remus grumbles bitterly, “I’m not giving you anything.” His head rolls to the side again. His arms try to shift, but Sirius lets go of his cock just long enough to pin them back down, telling them to stay. Remus sighs and stays where Sirius puts him. 

Grinning from ear to ear, Sirius chuckles, “You give me your body. You’re my pretty doll. I get to play with you however I like, and you can’t do anything but lie there and take it.”

Remus snorts. “No one wants to fuck a doll.”

Sirius laughs. He wraps his fingers around both his cock and Remus’, holding them together as he ruts, sliding his warm flesh over Remus’ flaccid skin. “Come on, Remy, you know better than that.” None of them have ever been _innocent._ Remus finally cracks a dull smile, something weak and sad.

Sirius kisses the corner of it. He turns Remus’ head back to him, and he rests his forehead against Remus’, and he squeezes his cock and rubs so hard. A few more thrusts and he’s building. His balls tighten, and he comes against Remus with a short cry, painting Remus’ stomach. Even when the orgasm washes through him, he doesn’t close his eyes. He spent so many years picturing Remus’ face that the real thing is _heaven_.

And then he’s done, and he’s slumping, satiated and panting. He rolls off to the side, giving Remus space. Remus is trembling. Sirius carefully tucks him back into his pants, leaving the mess of cum on his stomach. He looks at Sirius, sick and heartfelt. 

He mumbles fondly, “You’re such a dog.”

Sirius steals one arm to hold. He snuggles up to Remus’ side, content to sleep right here, like this, in his own mess and the sweat Remus has left in the sheets. That way when Remus inevitably wakes up screaming, Sirius will be there to hold him. 

Sirius sighs, “I missed you.” Which doesn’t at all convey just how much Sirius _missed him._

Remus mumbles, “Missed you, too.”

“’Night, doll.”

It makes him feel so good when Remus smiles.


End file.
